Final Lesson
by Reagan
Summary: Richie's picking up the pieces of a shattered life.


Title: Final Lesson  
  
Author: Reagan vir87@bigfoot.com  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Warnings: Four bad words and discussion of the violence of sword fighting immortals.  
  
Characters: RR, CM, DM  
  
Summary: Picking up the pieces of a shattered life.  
  
Setting: After Something Wicked. Richie's trying to figure out what to do.  
  
Disclaimer: Panzer/Davis and company own those mentioned above not I. Nor am I making any money off this. All suing will get you is my debt.  
  
Feedback: Is always encouraged and accepted. You can find me at:   
  
Vir87@bigfoot.com  
  
He'd stayed. Hid like the thief that he was until he heard from Dawson that MacLeod was gone. A dutiful student, brother, son. He had made arrangements for the dojo and the loft. When all of the busy work was taken care of and he no longer had anything to distract him he ran. Crossing endless stretches of road, but it was never enough. He couldn't run far enough or fast enough. Every night he awoke katana slicing through the air and every time he shot out of bed a tangle of sweat and sheets, a voiceless scream choking him.  
  
Nothing helped. Not alcohol, nor fighting. Quickenings just made it worse. Distance didn't matter when the memories were trapped inside his skull. His life had fallen into the rabbit hole and he had no idea how to get out. He wondered if he was stupid or maybe just suicidal when he finally weeks later had pulled up at this address. Madness he told himself. Going in there was beyond foolish. Yet where else could he go? He didn't want to die. That much he was sure of but were the answers he needed here. Unfortunately he couldn't think of anyone better. Didn't know anyone better.  
  
His palms were sweaty as he walked through the door. The store was completely different but it was like going back through time, to a happier place. The best months of his life, he fought down a hysterical laugh, almost choking in order to swallow the bile at the back of his throat. He was standing there staring at a display case when he felt the buzz. He thought he heard a woman's voice speaking to him but ignored it. The man's voice moments later could not be ignored.  
  
"Are you looking for me?" It was the darkest tone he'd ever heard and he barely suppressed a shiver.  
  
Turning to face the man, he wondered he if looked as empty as he felt. "Yes, Mr. Nash, I'm looking for you." He caught a glimpse of the woman he'd heard, worry clearly etched on her face. "Can we talk?" His eyes slid from the antique dealer to the woman and back, indicating a desire to speak alone.  
  
The older man studied him. A part of him recognized the young man in front of him but couldn't place him. His coat could certainly hide a sword but he hadn't brandished it nor even in any overt manner asked for a challenge. He wished he could figure out where he knew him from. Regardless, he wanted to move this encounter away from Rachel. Nodding his head he swept his arm toward the elevator. "We can talk in privacy upstairs."  
  
Normally he never would have invited an unknown immortal into his home but something was nagging at him. An instinct that told him this kid, and he did look like a kid, was not looking for a fight.  
  
Richie started walking, constantly aware of where the other man was as they made their way across the room. They rode up in silence, which lingered as they exited the elevator. Neither man sat down. "You wanted to talk Mr...?"  
  
"I wondered if you'd remember me. We've never actually met. I'm Richard Ryan." His voice was steady, not a flicker of the maelstrom of emotions churning in his guts.  
  
Connor raised an eyebrow in surprise. What a difference a few years could make. Gone was the wavy strawberry blond hair. It was darker now, reddish-brown, a buzz cut. He also looked a bit bigger but his heavy coat hid his build. "I remember you now. What brings you here?"  
  
Now that the question had been uttered Richie floundered for an answer. "I'm not sure." Well at least that wasn't a lie. He had no idea what the hell he was doing here. "Mac said if there was ever a problem to come here. I was in Virginia and just started heading Northeast. A day later I pulled up outside your door."  
  
Connor felt like he was trying to pull teeth. His face never changed but the kid's eyes gave it all away. They flashed the deepest pain Connor had seen in years. Whatever happened the kid was devastated. A sudden fear gripped his heart. "Duncan? Is he...?" He couldn't say the words.  
  
Richie understood though. Of course that's what he'd think. "No." He almost said he's fine, but that certainly wasn't the case. God only knew where or how he was. "He's alive as far as I know."  
  
Some tension eased out of Connor's shoulders with that announcement. "Then what?"  
  
His hands fisted up in his coat, as Richie pushed the vile words past his throat. "He tried to kill me."  
  
What? Connor's mind screamed back. Duncan would never do that to his student. Richie believed it though. Whatever had happened the lad's eyes displayed a terrible agony. "He wouldn't..."  
  
"Don't." The words were spit at him. Barely controlled anger vibrated the air. "You weren't there. This wasn't some fluke. It wasn't some practice session that went too far. He tried to kill me. He laughed as I looked at him. Asking him what was going on. Why was he doing this? He toyed with me. Batting away my sword like I'd never picked one up in my life. Circled around me with that fucking katana at my neck. I asked him if it was because there could be only one. He said that's as good a reason as any. A friend shot him as he started swinging that thing back in the final, killing stroke. So I'm here. That final lesson reverberating in my brain. There can be only one. I'm not good enough. He showed me that, but you taught him. And you were every bit his equal that day in the warehouse. I want to live Connor MacLeod. I'm not ready to die yet and I've got a second chance." The words stuck in his throat now. He didn't like asking for anything, but this was too important. "Will you teach me?"  
  
Connor stared at him the whole time. Not one muscle twitched as he listened to this boy pour his horror out. He didn't understand. Not any of it. Duncan would never do such a thing, but Connor was sure he wasn't lying. You couldn't fake that sincerity, the myriad of emotions that spilled forth in his voice and eyes. Still he had to be cautious here. "I won't teach you to kill him." It was both, statement of fact and threat.  
  
Richie's eyes turned dark blue and his voice chilled even Connor. "I don't want to see him again. I don't want to hear his bullshit about honor, family or friendships. I don't want to see that goddamn sword again. I don't want anything to do with him or his fucked up notions of chivalry. Everything is gone now and I'll never set foot in Seacouver or Paris again. I don't want to see him and I sure as fuck don't want to kill him. I don't want him in me. Ever." It was silent for an eternity before he asked just one last time, not knowing what he'd do if Connor said no. "Will you teach me?"  
  
Connor was taken aback at the sheer venom in his diatribe. Jesus Duncan what did you do to the lad? There was no doubt or mistaking how Ryan felt. Those words were a vow. His oath to never kill Duncan and that was enough. The full story would come out eventually he was sure.   
  
No matter what happened between them he knew Duncan would want him to protect the lad and teach him all that he could. This was his clansman's student, now his. "Yes." 


End file.
